Something of Grace and Beauty
by amalcolm1
Summary: After Rhett leaves Scarlett, he finds himself alone on the road between Tara and Twelve Oaks. There he meets the one man he thought he had nothing in common with. Written for the Yuletide challenge at livejournal.


"Something of Grace and Beauty"

Alone on the cold, slick road, Rhett's mount created little red clouds of Georgia dust about him as he stamped down the path that used to connect two plantations. It was a road that Captain Butler had frequently walked along with his wife, in those brief few days when happiness between them seemed possible. The river flowed freely, as freely as the money he had spent when she had said she would give anything to have Tara the way it was before the war.

Anything. He would have bought her anything to make her happy. He would have done anything. But Scarlett was not a woman for whom happiness could be bought. Not for all his millions. Not for all the love he still had inside him boiling and festering like a soar.

Why am I here? He thought. Why in God's name am I here?

He didn't know. The heavenly white of Tara's exterior, like a small beacon amongst the miles of cotton fields turned brown by the early winter, was out of view now. The horse, gloomy old animal, marched slowly onward, its dull hoof beats reminding Rhett of the final days of battle. The few remaining grey scarecrows charging into certain death armed with nothing but glory, honor, and misplaced dreams. A few came back. But they were changed men. The entire country was nothing he would have recognized as a young man.

And his children…

But then he remembered he had no children. His world, his little Bonnie Blue, one of only two things he really wanted was in the dark ground far away from him. What did it really matter of the changes in the world when he had no legacy to give it?

He had told Scarlett he was leaving. Leaving to see if there was something left of grace and beauty in the world. Why he was here, he couldn't say. At the train depot, he had meant to buy a ticket for Charleston. But instead he gave his destination as Jonesboro, and he had sat in perfect solitude the hour it took to get here from Atlanta.

Up ahead, the path to the remains of Twelve Oaks lay to the right, as uninviting as a skinless, outstretched hand. What remained of the former glorious plantation was now a black skeleton covered in red dust. The horse trotted nervously, heavy white steam shooting from its nostrils as if afraid of what would be found in this haunted house. The air was growing ever colder, threatening snow for the first time in recent memory. Rhett led his rented steed into the barn, vaguely surprised that it was still standing. It was growing late and other than Tara, the remains of Twelve Oaks offered the only available opportunity of shelter for the night, however menial. 

And there was no way he was going back to Tara. He couldn't bear to see Scarlett's sisters, Scarlett's possessions, Scarlett's past.

The barn was pitch black and what little sun there had been earlier was long abandoned to thick grey skies. Half-charred boards, crumbling bricks and debris lay everywhere, and Rhett was forced to use his cigar lighter to provide even the barest amount of illumination. 

"Well, Napoleon," said he, speaking to his animal. "It's not much, but you'll be safe for a night. There's a roof, at least."

The horse, his eyes rolling around in his head, stomped at the ground in reply. Rhett felt the reins tighten in his hand. "What's wrong, you pathetic animal?" He tugged harder. A sudden whinnying from the dark of one stall caused Rhett to both lose the reins as Napoleon backed away hard and for him to immediately reach for his pistol. A second's realization later, and he saw the little chestnut mare's eyes glowing at him in the dark. Feeling slightly foolish, he lowered his gun.

"Well, hello there, friend. How the Devil did you get here? Hold fast, Napoleon, you coward. This little mare won't harm you." He forced his own mount forward reluctantly, and led it into the neighboring stall. It was only as he was unsaddling Napoleon that he cursed himself a fool and his mind turned to the owner of the mare.

Squatters. Rhett could think of nothing he hated more, except perhaps carpetbaggers. The pistol again found itself in his hand, and with a last reassuring pat to Napoleon, he stepped carefully outside. The wind howled its loneliness.

There was almost nothing left of the house. Half of the grand staircase, which now led to nowhere, stood in the center of the charred rubble. A brief flash of that day at Twelve Oaks, the day of the barbeque, the day he first laid eyes on Scarlett O'Hara. Men were fluttering about her like bees drawn to honey, and callously she had collected the hearts of all the men and the scorn of all the women. He had felt a longing he never had before, when he saw those emerald green eyes. He knew that he had to have her.

His feet nearly gave out from under him countless times as he stepped through the shell of the house, boards barely visible in the fading light tripping him. The cold metal of the pistol stung at his hand, but his loath for what he might find kept him going. He passed the lonely grave of John Wilkes, killed in the second year of the war. The cheap wooden marker had been replaced by a respectable marble one by Ashley Wilkes sometime ago, but as far as Rhett knew, neither he nor Miss Melanie had returned to the Major's childhood home since the war ended, except for that one gesture. It seemed odd to him now.

The figure appeared so suddenly that Rhett, the best shot in Charleston, barely reacted to its form. His body seemed to throw itself against the eastern wall, the only one remaining, as he took aim.

"Alright," he shouted at the shadow. "Show yourself or I'll shoot!"

The form, kneeling before something Rhett could not make out, made no move. If it even heard his threat there was no response. He crept closer, pistol at arm's length. "You seem to have trouble with your hearing, sir. I do not usually repeat warnings."

"Shoot me then, if you care to take the trouble," replied a familiar voice. "You'd be doing me a favor in fact, sparing me the trouble of doing it myself."

---------------------------------------------

It was a second grave marker, positioned just a few yards from that of John Wilkes, but at such an angle that Rhett had not seen the prostate form of Ashley Wilkes before he was nearly upon him. He lowered his pistol as he approached, nearly asking in his arrogance why he was here before it occurred to him that he had no right to do so- it was still Wilkes' land, what little was left of it after all.

"My dear Captain Butler," said Ashley in a monotone, still on his knees. "How kind of you to come and pay your respects."

Rhett looked over the man's shoulder to read the carved letters upon the white marble:  
Melanie Hamilton Wilkes Beloved wife, mother and friend 'Flights of angels sing thee to thy rest'

As a stiff wind hollered in his ears, it occurred to Rhett how unsatisfactory words were when explaining a life's impact. Friend. How useless! No one upon reading this common, formal epithet would ever know that Melanie Wilkes was the only human being that had seen him weep as a man, and did not think less of him for it. Why, Captain Butler, she had said in her gentle voice, placing a child-like hand upon his arm, there, there…every woman wants a baby. How wrong she was! But she had been there, after Bonnie…

But he wouldn't think of Bonnie.

"Why here?" Rhett heard himself ask.

Ashley had still not moved. He looked as if he were glued to that one spot on the blackened ground. "We were happiest here. Twelve Oaks…it was the whole world to us. Melly…" his voice cracked.

"You mean to say you rode her coffin all the way out to Jonesboro"-

"I paid a few darkies with a wagon to help," Ashley interrupted. "I buried her coffin here and placed the headstone. You don't know…I couldn't bury her in public, in Atlanta….all those people, telling me what a good person she was, what a genuine lady…"

Rhett looked away, sure the man was going to break down, but at the last second he managed to compose himself. For the first time ever, Rhett felt something other than loath for Wilkes. "It was a damned fool thing to do alone. Why, if you'd only asked…" But Ashley merely shook his head. It was one of the things that always frustrated Rhett about this breed of southern gentleman. Their pride and honor was more valuable to them than anything. They'd rather die than ask for help. Or be seen in a shameful state, as Wilkes was at that very moment. 

"I suppose you can hardly move after such a labor," said Rhett, scowling down at him without pity. "Kindly take my arm and I'll help you to your horse, Major."

"No. I won't leave her here. Alone."

He flinched, the memory of those words being spoken in his own voice as his daughter lay cold on the bed flashing into his mind. He tried to force them away. "Don't be more of a fool than you already have been. I tell you you're coming with me." Reaching down, Rhett easily pulled the smaller man to his feet. But in so doing, he realized just what a state Major Wilkes was in. Not only was he spent physically and emotionally from his wife's death and burial, but he was icy cold to the touch. Even with his riding gloves still on, he could feel how pathetically cold Wilkes' skin was. It felt as if all his blood had been completely drained.

Ashley moaned, unable to stop himself. "Forgive me, but I don't seem able to…well, stand on my own two feet as it were."

"Never mind. Lean your weight on me. No, put your arm around my shoulder. Damn your self-reliance! Do it or I'll carry you!"

Weakly, Ashley threw nearly all his weight against Rhett, who without even realizing it, tightened his grip. No wonder the South lost the war, her soldiers were gentleman more concerned with honor than with their own lives. Hadn't someone said something about 'take my honor and you take my life'? Did they think that fighting honorably would matter to a Yankee? All their arrogance and chivalry and boasting had gotten them was a lead bullet to the brain.

He carried Major Wilkes with much effort over the uneven ground, not exactly sure where he was taking him. A doctor was what he needed, but the sky was not willing to abide them any longer, and a dusting of snow was already falling. "Well, the barn, I guess. It won't be the most comfortable place you've ever slept, but at least you won't freeze to death."

"I rebuilt it. I wanted to be near to my father, my past. The roof is strong and warm…and the hay is fresh. It's the only thing that looks the same, before the war." Rhett barely paid attention to the man's ramblings. The ground was growing slippery as ice.

It was almost too dark to see inside, but Rhett was satisfied to drop Ashley off in the first stall and catch his breath. Moaning, the sick man leaned his head against the wall, huddling into the straw. His mind immediately turned to Tara and Napoleon, merrily munching hay in his stall. He was an old animal, but might be sturdy enough to make it through the snow and wind. Ashley's little mare was young, but the weather would surely frighten her. Neither was strong enough to hold two men, though. And that was even provided they could find their way in the dark. No, it was better to wait for morning. He doubted Wilkes would die. He tried to tell himself he didn't much care if he did. Patting Napoleon, Rhett unbuckled his saddlebag.

"Here, major," he said, handing Ashley his bedroll. "You'd may as well take this. And this," he pulled out his silver flask.

Ashley turned his head. "Melly…Melly wouldn't like that."

"Drink it or I'll pour it down your throat!"

He hesitated, and despite the darkness, Rhett was sure he was staring at him. Ashley's face crumpled and he choked as he took two mouthfuls of the hard whiskey. His breathing became ragged for a moment. "I've never had a head for hard liquor. I can't recall when I've had anything stronger than wine or a julep."

"Stay here," Rhett answered, pushing his hat farther down on his head. "If we're stuck here for the night, I should much prefer we have a fire."

"Hadn't…hadn't we better try to make it to Tara, Captain?"

For some reason, this angered him. It was probably only the association between Tara and Scarlett, but Rhett was in no mood for misplaced chivalry. "In case it has escaped your notice, there is no moon. It's nearly as dark out there as in here. You're too weak to ride alone, and neither of our horses could hold the two of us together. The weather won't last. I'll ride for a doctor at first light." He put his hand on the cold wood of the door latch, hesitated, sure that Ashley would object. Tell him to leave him there. But other than a soft cough, there was no reply. For some reason, Rhett felt slightly disappointed as he flipped up his coat lapel and stepped into the stinging cold.

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The task of gathering firewood was simple enough, as the fields surrounding the barn were covered with rubble. Rhett worked quickly, the cold seizing upon him as soon as he stepped from the barn and he was shivering in seconds. He was dressed warmly, but no one short of an Eskimo would have been prepared for this sort of weather in Georgia. When he was little, he would watch from the corral fence the slaves chopping kindling, singing as they worked. Sometimes, when it amused him, he would take his hunting hatchet and help them. He always got into trouble for this, both from his father, who would threaten him with a hide tanning if he caught him working like common trash and from his mammy, who liked to tell him he weren't fittin' to be Mist' Butler's son.'

I suppose I never was at that, thought Rhett with a smirk, shoving boards under his arm. He had always been unconventional. He had never learned to be the gentleman his father hoped he would. He was a scallywag who gambled, kept the company of prostitutes and who never believed in the glorious cause. He married a widow far from being a lady, and worse of all, he had actually loved her.

All the miseries of the world are caused by love. No, actually, all the miseries of the world are caused by women. Rhett leaned his weight into the wind and concentrated on the same path back toward the barn. The snow covered the foot of his boots.

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"Still alive, Major?" He dumped the wood near to the door, blinking the frost out of his eyes. A faint cough and the rustling of straw confirmed that Ashley still lived. He turned his attention to the fire.

"You can't…you'll burn down the barn."

"I'll keep it small a dig a hole…but I don't suppose there is a shovel around here. Damn!" 

"Well, I didn't dig that grave with my hands, Captain." Rhett glared at him and Ashley huddled a little deeper into the straw. "In the stall with Bess. Near the back."

The shovel was caked in red mud and he almost hated to use it. Rhett could imagine Ashley digging the grave, nearly killing himself, his tears wetting the ground. The memory of that would be enough to keep him from Scarlett. She had sworn she no longer loved him. She tried to convince him she had been wrong. But how could he believe her, after all she had put him through? With Ashley watching silently, he dug a pit near the front door and loaded it with scraps of wood and sticks. His cigar lighter clicking was the only noise. The barn gradually filled with thin smoke and heat. It would not be the worse night Rhett had spent.

As soon as the fire was blazing, Ashley huddled in Rhett's bedroll, hardly able to look at him, as close to the fire as possible. His face had regained some color, but Rhett could nearly still feel the chill radiating from him. After a long uncomfortable silence, Ashley said, "I do wish you would try and ride to Tara, Captain Butler. There's no use in both of us suffering the night here."

"I don't plan on suffering in the least." Rhett stretched his long legs out in the straw and folded his hands behind his head. "I've slept in worse hovels than this."

"As have I, but"-

"You seem to have some sort of death wish, my dear Major. May I inquire as to why?"

"Death…wish." Ashley sighed as another roaring cough tore through him. "I suppose part of me does wish for death now. Why shouldn't I? I have nothing worth living for."

Rhett felt a sudden anger stab at him. His eyebrow twitched and his hand clinched into a fist. "What a thing to say. How dare you…you have no right to say such a thing!"

Ashley's pale eyes rolled over to him before his gaze fell back to the ground. "Captain Butler…"

"No! Your own child is alive and well. Breathing, growing, thriving. And mine is dead and buried. I ought to break your neck for such cowardice!"

"Yes. Yes, that is it, though. I am a coward."

Rhett glared at him, barely comprehending through his rage. "What?"

"I am a coward, sir," said Ashley softly. "I fear I have been my entire life. When I was a boy, nine years old, my mother lay dying after giving birth to a stillborn child. My father was too distraught to see her, so she begged for me. I was nearly dragged there by my Uncle, but I ran and hid in the cellar until she was dead. I was so afraid. So afraid. And my mother died without me there to hear her last words."

"Any child might have"-

But Ashley continued, seemingly without hearing. "Then the war came, and my fears resurfaced. Not of dying, mind, or fighting even. But of my world ending. My beautiful Twelve Oaks and the civilization I so cherished. Georgia went to war, and I went with her, but everyday I prayed for the strength to keep going, to not run away with Melanie and start anew from the world that was crumbling around me. There were times when I hoped I might meet my end with a Yankee bullet, as I knew what I would meet at home. I was…am…so weak. I could hardly bear to face the end of my life as I knew it. Melly was the only thing I had that did not change. My one constant…" his voice faded to barely a whisper. "And now I have nothing of that life left."

Rhett was sorry Melanie was dead as well. She was the best of women. But he was not sorry for Major Wilkes. He could appreciate that some men had learned the lesson of gentlemanship better than he, and that in doing so, they would act stalwart and chivalrous when they should have acted with more emotion, as he did. He could appreciate a man grieving the loss of his wife, and a great wife at that, but there was one thing he could never forgive from Ashley Wilkes. 

"Yes, Major, you are indeed a coward. But not for the reasons you have named. You are a coward because you could never tell your wife the truth. You could never even tell Scarlett the truth. Just led her on like a simpering fool for all these years. Making love to her with your eyes and mind, but not courageous enough to do it with your body. And standing by poor simple Miss Melly, too good-natured to see anything sinful in either of you. Why couldn't you have just taken my wife, Major? Just once? It was that long-term tease that kept her thinking of you constantly. Every time I touched her she was imagining it was you," he kept going, his voice rising, despite Ashley growing paler, mumbling protestations that he should not be hearing this. After two decades of anger burning within Rhett because of this unending love triangle, he could not stop now. "Was it because you were afraid of love? Afraid you would not at long last measure up to Scarlett's imagination? Certainly, I can imagine you and Miss Melly- the light off, under the cover, both too embarrassed to see each other's nakedness"-

"Stop!" Ashley yelled, and then broke into a long, guttural cough. "You can't say these things! Not about my wife. Say what you will about me, Captain Butler, as I certainly deserve your wrath. But you mustn't bring Melly into this. I won't allow it!"

Rhett jumped to his feet. "You won't allow it? Do you know what you have done to me? I loved Scarlett! But I never had a chance! I couldn't compete with the…the thought of you. The illusion of you. And I will bring your wife into this! Did you ever stop to think of what you were doing to her? But no, of course you didn't. You're a gentleman. God, how I hate that word! You would never betray a trust, would you? With your mind, but not with your body! You would lead Scarlett on, but never commit a true indiscretion. That's what is so damn infuriating about you!" Rhett was standing directly over Ashley now, nearly considering dragging him to his feet, so that he could knock him back down again. But he saw the sickly expression upon the Major's face. His neck and lips were pure white and his breath ragged as the two men, one standing and one sitting stared at each other in fear and anger. Rhett saw, or thought he saw a hint of pink in the Major's eyes and remembered that Melly had been dead only 48 hours. And he knew Ashley loved her, no matter who else he may also love. He looked down at his hand and was surprised to see that his pistol was in it. He hadn't remembered pulling it out. He hadn't been that mad since…since Scarlett and that one night of too much whiskey. Or maybe he had been mad after Bonnie had died. Melanie was there and he was crying…no, he was not mad then. He was a blubbering idiot. Maybe there was something to be said about the gentleman who remained emotionally detached after all.

Rhett lowered his hand and put the pistol back into his holster. "My…apologies, Major. I let my emotions get away from me there. After Scarlett and Bonnie…" he cleared his voice. "Never mind. You need to get some rest. I'll see to the fire." He lay back down and chucked another chunk of wood or two onto the fire, feeling as the warmth spread as the boards cracked and popped. It was his temper, his emotional nature that had caused most of the miseries of his life. It was the reason he was kicked out of Westpoint, the reason his relations no longer claimed him, the reason he could not make his relationship with Scarlett work, maybe the reason he had lost little Bonnie…

But oh, how that thought hurt! He had spoiled her rotten, he knew that. He had used her as a substitute for Scarlett, bought her love as it were. And had he not done that, had he not ruined her childlike spirit, she may never have disobeyed her parents when they told her not to try and jump higher on the pony. It felt like a punch to the gut to think of Bonnie. His dear little daughter, how he had loved her…

"Captain Butler," a voice broke in, disturbing his thoughts. "There is something I am going to tell you."

"Save your strength. We've said enough for one night. Or rather, I've said enough for the both of us." 

"No. I must. I have never told anyone, ever. But I hope it will help you to understand…or maybe you will only think worse of me for it, I don't know. But I must tell you, nonetheless."

Rhett rubbed at his temples. "Really, Major"-

"During the war, the night before I was taken prisoner at Spotsylvania, something…I did something disgraceful. I had a tent, one of the only left who did, and it was bitterly cold. This young fellow…he could not have been more than eighteen. I let him sleep in the tent with me. He was crying, for his mother or whoever. I put my arm around him. I missed Melly so…and he was afraid of dying. It was cold. That was how it started. We huddled together for warmth. He kissed me first. I don't know…"

He was talking so fast that Rhett could barely keep up. Ashley was staring hard into the fire with wide eyes, haunted eyes and Rhett was not sure that he could trust his senses. His hearing. "What are you saying?"

For the briefest of seconds, Ashley looked at him. But his gaze fell and he shuddered, pulling the bedroll tighter around his shoulders. "I was taken prisoner the next day by the Yankees. I never did know what happened to him. Even what his name was. He had the bluest eyes you ever saw…poor fellow." Rhett watched as he nearly buried his entire body in the bedroll, as if he could hide completely. "I loved Melanie, Captain. More than anything, I did. But I never…never liked one certain part of marital relations. I'm sure she thought that it was her. I was relieved when Dr. Meade told her she should not risk having any more children. Than I had an excuse. I could never shake the feeling of what it was like with him…so different than with a woman. Exciting…real. And with Scarlett…I never meant to lead her on. Part of me did love her and wanted to be with her. But not in that way. That part of me only desired the feeling I had during the war. So I sought it out whenever I could, and did my best to hide it from Melly…and Scarlett."

Rhett had never heard the man say so much at once. He was always quiet. Even that night in Atlanta, when he had been shot and Frank Kennedy killed, he would barely say a word as to what happened. Just stood there with his gun, bleeding from the arm, looking angrily at the pool of Kennedy's blood that washed into the road. It was the last thing Rhett ever expected to hear confessed to him, particularly from a man such as this. One that valued privacy and never spoke of his own demons. Rhett slowly picked part of a branch and studied the hard, rough surface. He couldn't look at him. "Why are you telling me this?" He asked, although somehow in the back of his mind he thought he might know.

"I suppose I shouldn't have. I've never told anyone. The only people who know are…well, not liable to tell. These past two days, knowing that Melly was dead. How I've betrayed her!"

Rhett was fairly certain Ashley was weeping now, but he was too uncomfortable to say anything. He was surprised by a strange feeling that he should say something of comfort, rather than of disgust, but somehow it felt as though this explanation helped to clarify a piece of his own life. He could only see him through the fire and he didn't want to look at him. He heard the cap of his flask unscrew. There was no sound of repulse as he drank now. An hour or so later, Major Wilkes' ragged breathing grew steady and he knew he was asleep. Only then did Rhett dare look at him. He looked like a normal man. The fire reflected orange shadows underneath his eyes, dark from sickness and worry. And crying. There was nothing worse for a man than to cry. The horrible guilt he had felt after Scarlett had had her miscarriage. That was what Ashley was feeling now. Guilt.

He watched him through the night, making sure his chest was still rising and falling and adding boards to the fire. He didn't hear as the storm roared itself out. A few hours before dawn he fell asleep and dreamed of a small, skinless hand reaching through the ground up at him.

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"Captain Butler?"

Rhett's eyes opened and a sickly noise escaped from the back of his throat. The tickly stench of hay mixed with fresh manure filled his nose, and for a few seconds he had no idea why. His head was covered in cold perspiration, and Ashley Wilkes, leaning heavily against the wall support stared down at him with a look of concern. He had nearly the same dream every night. Bonnie. Crying and afraid. In the dark. And he could never reach her.

"Are you alright?" Ashley asked, his voice slightly stronger.

"I'm…fine." Rhett rubbed his eyes, trying to forget. But he knew it was futile. 

"You were calling for her, you know. For the last hour or so. Perhaps I should have awoken you, but"-

"What?"

Ashley cleared his throat, carefully sitting back down next to him. "Your daughter. You were calling to her. Forgive me for burdening you with my own problems. I nearly forget Bonnie has so recently passed"-

"I don't wish to talk about her. Is it light yet? I should be off for Tara." The events of the last night were coming back to him, and he suddenly felt uncomfortable remembering what he had said to Ashley, and what Ashley had confessed to him. His legs had long since fallen asleep, however, and when he looked out the barn door, he saw that there was still barely any light. Not enough to risk riding yet. He was angry, but it was the kind that seemed vague and unfocused. The Major was watching him as he held onto the wall support, not even trying to make it appear otherwise, the way the Yankees used to when he was in prison. He still looked weak, as if his legs might give out from under him at any second, but his expression was strong. The guilt of the previous evening appeared to have vanished. How could it be that easy for him? What he had confessed was not only a crime and a sin, but not something particularly easy to tell to another man. Men, real men were supposed to keep quiet about painful things. They weren't supposed to say when their hearts were broken. When they couldn't stop grieving a tiny little soul in Heaven.

"You've had little rest, Captain Butler. There is no hurry. Perhaps you had better sleep for a while, and I will tend the fire."

"No." Rhett stomped into the stall with Napoleon and heaved the saddle over his shoulder. The horse looked at him with a sleepy expression, but somehow seeing the old steed again reminded him of Bonnie. She so loved horses. She would have been a great horsewoman someday, too. If only she had not been so spoiled and fought over…

If only you did not kill her. Rhett growled and slapped the seat over his mount, nearly making him buck. It was foolish of any man to get too attached to a person, too reliant on them. Look what it did to Scarlett…and Ashley Wilkes. People shouldn't love, it only causes pain. "I'll ride to Tara and borrow a wagon. Then come back for you. I haven't the foggiest idea where the nearest doctor is in this godforsaken area…"

"You really shouldn't leave until the sun is up"-

Rhett spun around and Ashley was lying in the hay bleeding from the mouth after one punch. It was almost as if he was expecting it, as he didn't even make any noise. He fell against the support, choking on the blood and sounding an inch from death, but looking far stronger. Rhett could only stare, not entirely sure what had just happened or why he had done it. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the words were not there. Oh, God Bonnie…. "Bonnie…" He fell against Napoleon, breathing in the pungent smell of his leathery skin which was soon wet somehow and he screamed all the bottled up frustration at the way his life had turned out. He had loved only two things-just two- in the entire world and both were taken from him. His eyes burned like they were weeping poison rather than tears.

He felt something heavy on his shoulder, but he didn't care enough to tell him to leave him alone. His hands had balled into fists and Napoleon was whinnying nervously. "Melanie loved children. She loved everyone, but children especially," Ashley was saying. Rhett wished he would be quiet. "It was so hard for her to see a child die. Every time she would leave to nurse one that did not make it, she would cry for days. But still, she kept going. One day I asked her why, when it obviously hurt her so. She told me…she said that God had given his only child to the world, and so she reminded herself and every parent who had lost a child that they had a connection to the Lord that no one else had. God so loved the world and gave us his son, and that in return, they so loved the Lord that they had the strength to return to God their own son or daughter."

Rhett turned toward the fire, sucking in a deep breath. He wished for a cigarette, something he rarely smoked. He didn't love God. He had not had the strength to give him his only daughter. He had tried to convince Miss Melly that she should not try and get pregnant. But she was willing to risk her life to bring another child into the world. Children are life renewing itself, she had said. He knew no one else that brave. 

He wasn't that brave.

"When she died," Rhett heard himself say, "she was the only one I would let see her. She told me that children were angels, and that God could not stand to be parted from the best of them for very long. That was why he had called Bonnie home." 

Ashley had pulled out his handkerchief and had it pressed to his lip, which was bleeding profusely, but his voice was as calm and even as ever. "She wanted another child. I, of course, for more than one reason, tried to convince her that I was happy with one. But she would not be deterred, and so I complied. She knew that another pregnancy would more than likely kill her. And so, in a way, I contributed to her death."

"That's absurd."

"Is it? You think you contributed to your daughter's death."

He had never heard another say it out loud. It was the thought that never left his mind during the day and haunted him at night. It was horrible to hear out loud…it made it too real. Ashley had moved next to him, his hand on his arm. "Go back to Scarlett, Captain Butler. She loves you. More than she ever loved me. Don't let Bonnie's death be in vain."

I took that to burst the bubble. He had already hit Major Wilkes once, but he knew that doing so again would solve nothing. If only he would antagonize him, provoke him. But no…he was offering his own wife back to him. He didn't want her. He wanted some boy in a dark alley, or something equally sinister. He was telling him to go back to Scarlett. The one thing that he couldn't do. He had told her he no longer loved her. But even if he was not responsible for his own misfortune, he had no way of repairing the future. Rhett looked away from the wall, and back to Napoleon, still saddled and idly chewing on a few wisps of hay. "Keep the fire going, Major," said Rhett, heading back into the stall. "I'll be back before dark."

"Really, now, that road will be covered in ice. You mustn't try"-

"And only hours ago you were telling me that I should risk riding for Tara. I wish you would offer me no more advice for one day." He grabbed the halter and Napoleon reluctantly stepped forward. Ashley said nothing else, but watched him with an expression of solid stone. As he mounted the horse outside, he was sure he saw him shake his head.

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Napoleon stepped nervously, as if afraid the ground would hurt him. There was little if any sun, and without having to check his pocketwatch, Rhett knew that if there was going to be one, it would have been in the sky by now. Nature had been ill-prepared for the unexpected weather and although the snow had stopped, every blade of brown grass looked like crystal-covered ice. The air itself was thick and cold, painful to breathe in. Rhett kept going. "Move, Napoleon!" He shouted, slapping the horse's flank with the reign. "What good do you think dawdling will do?"

What right did that fool have to tell me I should go back to Scarlett? It was just as much her fault that Bonnie was dead. 

Napoleon whinnied and kept throwing his head back. Rhett glanced at the river so near the road, still flowing despite a thin frozen top-covering. They had walked this very path. Scarlett attached to him, and as much his as she ever would be. She had nightmares, as well, of the days when she was starving, struggling to survive as the war was dragging itself out. She was like a little child then, similar to Bonnie in the dark. She had nightmares of bears and he was there to comfort them both. No one could comfort him…. Rhett felt that familiar rage building within him. He was heading into the past. Both his and Scarlett. Stupid horse…move…you useless, piece of…

Napoleon gave a great cry of fear that Rhett should have recognized immediately, had he been in a right state of mind. The horse's neck snapped around as his legs slipped from under him. Rhett realized he was falling, but strangely felt no fear. No confusion. There was time to feel it, but the only thing he felt was the crushing pain in his right leg and the piercing cold of the water. He heard the sharp whine of Napoleon but it seemed far away. His mouth went under and there was no air left to breath, only a stabbing throb in his lungs. His mind floated to red and the cold dissipated. It was like sleeping. Or floating. Bonnie…my darling…

-  
"How is he, Major Wilkes?" A soft voice asked. Ashley turned to Careen, who set down the oil lamp she had been holding. Her face, once so very young, had aged considerably with the stress of post-war life. But her demeanor was still very young. 

"The doctor says he'll live. His leg is broken and he took quite a chill when he fell into the river, but he's strong. You needn't worry, my dear."

Careen smiled. "Is Scarlett asleep?"

"Yes. I insisted. She hardly wanted to leave his side, the poor thing."

"But Major-you're hardly well yourself. Hadn't you"-

"Oh, I'm feeling much more myself."

Careen lowered the light in the lamp and left with a last glance at the sleeping Captain Butler. She had had eyes for only one man, lost long ago, but the woman in her could hardly help but look upon Captain Butler with desire. He was the kind of man that all women secretly lusted after: so daring, adventurous, and handsome. Ashley cocked his head, contemplating. He was a very attractive man. He could hardly deny the agony of being so very near to him, seeing the man so very vulnerable as he had been just days before, in the barn, hardly able to control himself. But although Ashley had confessed more than he ever intended to him, there was one thing he could never say. 

"My dear Captain Butler, if only you knew all the people in love with you," he muttered, pulling the quilt up around the man's shoulder. "How can any man despair when he is so loved by so many?"

Ashley leaned back in his chair, resting his arms across his chest. It still ached, for more than one reason, but with every day that passed, the pain gradually decreased. He was hopeful. Hopeful for the first time in recent memory. All his life, he had been afraid of change. Afraid more of his life changing than ending. His eyes traveled northward as a strong compulsion to sleep began to gnaw at his brain. Well, Melly, I can hardly expect that not to change now. Nor can Captain Butler. Watch over us, my dear. Watch over us with all the grace and beauty you always showed us both.  



End file.
